Entangled in Lust

18. Falling, Drunk, and The Hand That Caught Me

I stood on the noisy sidewalk of Sudirman, but it felt like I was standing in the middle of a desert. Lucas was gone. The penthouse was locked behind me. And now, I only had one big question: Where do I go?

Home? No. My mother would see my face and I couldn’t deal with the questions. And my father... I already knew what he’d say. "I told you so."

I needed a friend. I needed someone who could hug me without judgment. My hands trembled as I opened my contact list. My thumb scrolled through names of campus friends, mostly just "say hi" types. Then it paused at the letter A. Ashley.

Three years ago. Airport. She was leaving for Halloway University, and I'd shown up even though things between us were still... weird. She'd forgiven me for the Lucas mess in high school, but it wasn't the same as before. Still, she helped me pack when my parents split. Folded my sweaters while I ugly-cried on the floor.

"You love him too much," she'd said. Not even looking at me. Just folding. "Save some for yourself."

But that day, at the airport, there was one person who refused to get out of the car to say goodbye. Jessica. She sat in the car, wearing oversized sunglasses, staring straight ahead. She was on the same flight to Paris for design school as Ashley. But when I walked Ashley to the drop-off zone, she wouldn’t even look at me.

"Is Jess still mad?" I asked Ashley quietly.

Ashley smiled sadly. "She needs time. We have a long flight to Paris together. I'll try to talk to her."

"Give this to her, okay?" I slipped the apology letter I had spent days writing into Ashley’s hand. "I don't have the courage to give it to her myself. Maybe she'll read it on the plane."

Ashley nodded, hugging me tight. "I’ll give it to her when we land in Paris, before I catch my connecting flight to the US. Bye, Cell."

That was the last time I saw them. Now, Ashley was in her third year of Pre-Med. She wasn't a doctor yet, but she lived like one. She was surviving on caffeine, chasing a perfect 4.0 GPA to get into a top Medical School. She was likely up all night in the library or volunteering as an ER scribe to boost her resume. Jessica was likely interning at a top fashion house in Paris. She probably tossed my letter aside years ago without reading it.

I checked my phone. 3:00 PM in Jakarta. That meant 3:00 AM in Baltimore. Ashley was definitely sleeping, or buried under piles of Organic Chemistry textbooks. I pressed the call button anyway. Ring... Ring... Voicemail. "Hi, it's Ashley. I'm probably studying. Leave a message."

I ended the call. I started crying. I was alone. Truly alone. I had traded all my best friends for Lucas, and now Lucas had traded me for corporate assets.

My feet moved aimlessly. I didn't want to go home. I wanted to forget. I saw a neon sign lighting up across the street. A new high-end bar had just opened in the basement of an office tower. Without thinking twice, I crossed the road.

-------

Three hours later. The world was tilting. I didn't know how many shots of tequila I had downed. All I knew was that the burn helped. The music in the bar was too loud. I sat alone at a high table, chin in my hands.

"Hey, miss... all alone?" The smell of cigarettes hit me. Someone sat down next to me. Too close. "Go away," I mumbled.

"Aw, don't be like that." His hand was on my shoulder. When did that happen? "Bad day? You look like you need company."

I tried to focus on his face, but everything was blurry. "I said, go away!" I tried to push his hand away, but I was too weak. My body swayed dangerously.

"Come on, don't be shy," the man gripped my arm tightly. "You're wasted, miss. It's dangerous here. Let me drive you home."

He pulled me off the barstool. My legs wouldn't hold me. I almost fell, but he caught me by the waist. His grip was too tight. Too low. "Let go..." I whimpered. I tried to struggle, but to anyone watching, we probably just looked like a drunk couple having a fight.

He dragged me out the bar door, toward the dark parking lot. The Jakarta night air slapped my face, but it wasn't enough to sober me up. A blue taxi was already waiting out front. "Get in," the man ordered, shoving me toward the back seat.

"No!" I braced my foot against the taxi door. "Help! I don't know him!"

"Shhh, my girlfriend loves drama when she's drunk, Sir," the man told the taxi driver with a grin. He tried to force my leg inside.

Panic set in. Fear cut through the alcohol fog. I wanted to scream, but my voice was hoarse.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed the back of the man's collar. "She said no, asshole."

The voice was low. Heavy. And furious. The man was jerked backward so hard his grip on my arm broke. He spun around, ready to curse. "Hey! Who are you? Don't get invol—"

THUD! One hard shove sent the man sprawling onto the asphalt. Standing in front of me was a tall man. He was wearing a black bomber jacket and a baseball cap. His posture was broad, his shoulders wide—much broader than I remembered.

He stared at the man on the ground. "Get the f**k out of here."

The man paled, seeing an opponent twice his size. He scrambled up, muttered a curse, and ran away as fast as he could.

The tall man let out a rough breath. He turned to look at me. Under the dim streetlights, he took off his cap. Messy black hair. A sharp jawline now covered in a bit of stubble. And those eyes... those dark brown eyes that used to look at me with patience, now looked at me with a mix of shock, anger, and... relief.

"M-Dave?" I whispered.

Dave looked me up and down. He saw my wrinkled dress, my messy hair, and my ruined, tear-streaked face. "God, Cell." He wasn’t looking at me. Looking past me, back at the bar entrance.

Two guys came out—his friends, probably. "Yo, Dave, what’s—" "I gotta go," Dave cut them off without looking back. "What? Dude, you literally just got here! We haven't even ordered!" Dave ignored them. He focused entirely on me.

He caught me before I hit the ground. "Did he—are you hurt?"

I tried to answer but everything tilted. I grabbed his jacket just to stay upright. The scent of him—clean laundry and mint—overwhelmed me. "Lucas left," I heard myself say. Or maybe I just thought it. Everything went black.

-------

When I opened my eyes, the sun was already high. My head pounded. My mouth was bone dry.

I groaned, trying to open my eyes. The ceiling was unfamiliar. Pristine white. A modern hanging lamp. I jolted up, panic rising. I patted my body. I was still in last night's dress. My shoes were off and neatly placed on the floor. I was covered by a thick duvet up to my neck.

I turned to the side. On a single sofa in the corner of the room, someone was sleeping, sitting up, arms crossed over his chest. Dave.

He was still wearing last night's clothes. His long legs stretched out awkwardly because the sofa was too small for him. His face looked exhausted. Memories of last night flooded my brain. The bar. The creep. Dave punching him (or shoving him?). Dave was here. Dave was really here.

I moved slightly, and the creak of the mattress woke him. His eyes snapped open, alert. The moment he saw I was sitting up, his shoulders relaxed.

"You awake?" he asked. His voice was raspy with sleep. He stood up, grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the table, cracked the seal, and handed it to me. "Drink. You need this."

I gulped the water greedily. Dave sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectful distance. He looked at me straight on.

"What were you doing there?" He didn't sound angry. Just tired. "That guy could've—" He stopped. Rubbed his face. "f**k, Cell."

I stared at the water bottle. "I didn't know where else to go."

He waited.

"Ashley's in America. Jessica won't talk to me. And Lucas..." I couldn't finish.

"What about Lucas?" Dave straightened his back. "I brought you here because you wouldn't tell me your address last night. You kept mumbling his name."

"He left," I whispered. Tears started to drip again. "He went to Barcelona. He left me, Dave."

"Left?" Dave frowned. "Just like that?"

"No," I let out a broken laugh. "Worse. He offered to make me his mistress. He said he has to marry Sofia for business, but he wanted to keep me in an apartment nearby."

Silence. The atmosphere in the hotel room shifted drastically. Dave stood up abruptly, fists clenched. His jaw clenched.

"He said what?" Dave asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"He said I should be grateful," I sobbed. "He said no decent family would want a girl from a broken home like mine. He threw his access card at me like... like he was buying me."

Dave stood up abruptly. He walked to the window, turned around, and kicked the trash can so hard it dented. "That f*****g coward," he hissed. "I swear to God, if he wasn't on a plane right now, I'd kill him. I would actually kill him."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He looked at me, seeing me shaking on the bed. His expression softened from rage to heartbreak.

"Three years, Cell," he said quietly. "Three years you gave him everything. And he treated you like that?"

I looked at him with wet eyes. "I know. I'm stupid, Dave. I chose wrong. I threw you away, I threw Jessica away, I threw everything away for a man who was ashamed of me."

I buried my face in my hands, crying uncontrollably. Shame, pain, regret, everything mixed together.

Suddenly, I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around me. Dave pulled me into his embrace. He buried my face in his chest, rubbing my back gently. It was solid. Safe.

"It's okay," he whispered softly on the top of my head. "Just cry. Let it all out."

"Don't leave," I whimpered. I didn't mean to say it out loud.

He didn't answer right away. Just held me there, one hand on my back. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "I'm not going anywhere."

We stayed like that for a long time. No kiss. No lust. Two best friends, apart for three years, trying to mend a heart scattered on the floor of a Jakarta hotel.